Hairy spiders do not grill
steaks on consecutive Tuesdays
due to alternate-side-residency-
restrictions in bushes on parkways
Nevertheless, if seeking opportunities
to slake cracked-throat-thirst
Welcome to the Wetlands
where founts of poetry burst
I'm here looking at the sky,
cultivating the sun on my skin...
in inspiration
asking for rain,
waiting with faith,
the rain falls...!
If the rain comes,
I want to soak
along with the drying of the ground...
If the rain comes,
if i receive such a blessing,
so much consideration...
Here I will stay
here I will plant
my generation...
Backwoods, cracked dry land
yet exists spring time blooming...
wild cactus flowers
I'm a native born morning in Appalachia,
smoky mountains surround
my holy ground.
Life in a single-wide far from the road
never gets old.
nor do two ducks trying to mate
in my leaky rubber pool.
Yesterday's wine bottle is empty again
yet I pour myself out
sip the chill mist
light up, let the hot tobacco
heat the dew on my lips.
The birds are making a fuss.
The Blue heelers are whooping it up,
and the goats are high brawling.
Wife's gone to Cookeville
to work at Walmart,
says she ain't coming back.
Figure I’ll go back to bed,
rest my head till whenever,
then
drink a warm beer for breakfast.
Singer, sing your people,
people don't know how to sing...
sing the old, sing the new,
for young and old to listen...
From times gone by,
so much land and so much sea...
struggles that people is involved
or for hope galloping...
Singer if you're smart,
can even tell us a lot,
what's wrong and what's right
and the lords of star...
From fights and the affliction,
paddling in atrocious river
faced the all conflicts
taming the fierce evil...
don't be quiet, calm the fear
your pilgrimage singer,
tell us all the secrets,
do your "homily" well...
punish all the bosses
quietly talk about the novel,
Singer...your voice commands,
you are the one who can save the people...!!
Oxes paste mirage
in semi-árid pasture
of apparent plant,,,
Those long walks in the quiet backwoods
haven't faded from the vivid memory,
and where once white oaks and elms
waved and offered shade on summer days
had a refreshing breeze which felt heavenly.
Didn't you enjoy the strolls with your sweetheart laughing?
Weren't they more memorable than smiles flashed for a reason,
and looking straight up you saw among leaves a lonely robin
warbling; was he mourning his lost mate never returning?
Those long walks in the quiet backwoods
were frequent and pleasant to the senses;
and if they seemed eternal, it was only a wish
longing for the longest day without a rush.
We had a favorite spot where we explored our fantasies,
and before we knew evening came with its purple dusk;
we didn't want to leave, but remain in that realm of magic
where all worries were forgotten and joys so lively, not brusk,
renewed themself going wayward to meet the subduing shadows.
Misery's my masterpiece
I'm a Rembrandt of the blues
My bucket list, only consists
Of a pair of worn out shoes
Nashville spit me out
And that's a hard pill, to swallow
Much like my Backwoods
Bravado
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
It's also the reason
Why I'm still alone
I'm hard on myself
Because pride don't pay bills
And living helped me render
These skills
I like my twang with
A big side of whiskey
I'll take my heartbreak, with pain
It's all the same
But my backwoods bravado
Has kept me
From becoming
One of Nashville's greats
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
To often about hurt
And love that's gone wrong
I could wallow in pity
Or write it real strong
But my backwoods bravado
Lives on
The hills sing their song
From the breeze in the trees
And my backwoods bravado
Is like a disease
Wherever my heart goes
My life leads me
And my backwoods bravado
Just grieves
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
The truth's in the lie
That drags me along
Maybe someday should tradition
Come back along
My backwoods bravado
Can live on
Yes my backwoods bravado lives on
anacreontic verse
The path seems clear
before me. Strolling
before daybreak,
each step becomes
a test for my lack
of concentration.
Up ahead,
a tangle of vines
forces awareness,
brings blood to my cheek.
Unseen rocks and holes
disturb my gait;
my ankle complains.
I resolve to
return to this path
with proper tools,
chop the briars,
and move the rocks
to fill the holes.
Encroaching further
upon nature’s yard,
I am warned by
striking red skies
as sunrise dawns.
Decision is made.
I will leave this place
untouched by
human hands.
It existed, backwoods,
Since the peaceful childhood;
Where only tranquility,
Warmth and tenderness
Bordered our intentness.
However getting into life..
Absorbing experience,
Getting well-known to what's novel,
Taking hard fortitudes,
Contributing all accessible chances
Attempting for a better eventual,
Leading for a self-satisfied grownup,
Are snatching it from me.
Whatever authorities were,
Hard decisions must be picked up.
Requesting luxurious serendipity,
Requires much sufferance
And acclimates the envier thirsty,
But at least confident,
For assuming it in a misty finality.